Freddy the Politician

by Walter R. Brooks

  Charles subsided, grumbling in his beak, and Mrs. Wiggins said: “I agree with you about the bugs. But how about Webb?”

  “That’s right,” said Hank. “The Webbs went to Florida. There’s stripes for ’em in the flag. But spiders are bugs, ain’t they? Or ain’t they?”

  “They’re bugs all right, as far as I know,” said Freddy. “But Mr. Webb is a very distinguished bug. And Mrs. Webb is a very charming one. They’ve certainly got as good a right to vote as anyone on the farm. Now, that is a problem.”

  When Mr. Webb heard his name, he came swinging down his little silk ladder from the roof and landed on Mrs. Wiggins’s nose. The cow sniffed and began puckering up her face for a sneeze. “Hey, what in the nation—!” she gasped. “Oh, it’s you, Webb. Hang on.” And she gave a tremendous sneeze. “Are you there?” she said. “All right, all right; quit clawing me or I’ll sneeze again. Get up by my ear.”

  So Mr. Webb went up close to her ear, and the other animals waited while he talked. “It’s all right,” said Mrs. Wiggins after a minute. “Webb says he and Mrs. Webb don’t care about voting. Says he’s a bug and proud of it, but he knows it might cause us trouble, and he’s sure it would cause him trouble, what with the other bugs being jealous and all. Now, isn’t that Webb all over?”

  The animals all said it was fine of him and gave him a cheer, and Mr. Webb ran up to the tip of Mrs. Wiggins’s left horn and jumped up and down, which is a spider’s way of showing good feeling.

  “Now,” said Freddy, “who shall we nominate for president?”

  Immediately all the animals began speaking at once. “I nominate Robert!” “Jinx is my choice!” “Freddy! Freddy for president!”

  “Our Uncle Wesley always said,” quacked Alice, “that he believed I had great executive ability, if I only had a chance to use it. Now, I think—”

  “I assure you, ladies and gentlemen,” interrupted Charles, “that if this high honor should fall to me—”

  “Quiet!” squealed Freddy. “Quiet! Silence! Shut up! Don’t you see? Don’t you see what’s going to happen? Jinx is going to vote for Jinx, and Charles for Charles, and Alice for Alice, and so on. We’ll all get from one to three or four votes apiece. And the rats will vote in a body for Simon and elect him. We’ve got to agree. Now, I don’t say that Alice or Jinx or Charles or anyone here would make a bad president. I don’t think there’s any one of the old crowd that wouldn’t do a good job. But we can’t all be elected. We’ve got to agree on one.

  “And I want to say right here that I am not a candidate. For one thing, I don’t like to get up early in the morning. And believe me, the president of this farm has got to get up early and stay up late. Now is there anybody else who doesn’t want the job?”

  “Well, I don’t, for one,” said Henrietta. “Haven’t I got enough to do with twenty-seven children and a husband to manage and pick up after without taking on a whole farm? And Charles doesn’t want it either.”

  “Oh, come, Henrietta,” protested the rooster. “If a wide popular demand should be made for my services, could I in all decency refuse? To the clarion call of public duty the private citizen must respond, no matter how great the sacrifice. And who am I to say that—”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” interrupted Henrietta vigorously. “The wide popular demand is usually for you to shut up, and you can respond to that right now.” And she glared at him so ferociously that Charles sighed and, leaning his head against the wall, fell into a reverie.

  “I guess there wouldn’t be any wide popular demand for me either,” said Hank. “There’s some days I think I’d like to be a king or a president or something, and lead parades and have the people throw their hats up and cheer when I went to the window. And there’s some days I’m glad I’m just Hank, that nobody pays any attention to, and I look out the window and there ain’t anybody there looking back at me. And there’s other days when I got the rheumatism in my off hind leg and it just kind of hurts me even to smile. If I could just be president on the good days, I dunno’s I’d mind. But every day for a year ain’t my choice.”

  Then some of the others said they didn’t want to be president either, and Alice withdrew when she found she’d have to make speeches. “Because,” she said, “I could never stand up in front of an audience, never.”

  Finally the choice was narrowed down to Jinx, Robert, Mrs. Wiggins, Eeny, and Ferdinand.

  And after some argument Freddy said: “As far as doing a good job goes, I don’t think it makes any difference. Any of you would do a good job. But my choice would be Mrs. Wiggins. She’s got the presence for it. She’s the biggest of us all—and that’s very important, for she’ll show up well in crowds or group photographs. She’s a good mixer. And she’s got common sense. Also, she’s had some practice in public speaking, in those travel talks she used to give. I think we should all get behind Mrs. Wiggins.”

  “Well now, Freddy,” said Mrs. Wiggins, with a troubled look on her broad face, “I don’t agree with you. A cow ain’t built for public life, and that’s a fact. A cow’s place is in the home. Now, I think—”

  But Freddy interrupted her quickly. He felt pretty sure that the other animals agreed with him, and he didn’t want another argument started, which might split them up again. “Nonsense,” he said loudly. “You’re our candidate. Go in and win. Mrs. Wiggins for president: that’s our platform, and on it we stand. How about it, animals?”

  The others, carried away by Freddy’s enthusiasm, agreed and shouted down Mrs. Wiggins’s objections.

  “Well,” she said at last, “all right. I’ll do my best. If you’ll all get behind me, as Freddy says, maybe we’ll get somewhere. But,” she added with her booming laugh, “if you shove good and hard it’ll be better. A cow’s awful hard to move.”

  VIII

  A mob of animals of all kinds and sizes jammed the big barn to the doors that evening, and hundreds of late arrivals crowded close up to every crack and door and window, straining their ears to hear every word that was said. Freddy, sitting with his friends in the old phaeton which always served as a platform at these meetings, said to Jinx: “Lots of strange faces here tonight. I don’t even know some of these animals. And heavens, there’s old Whibley, the owl. He hasn’t been out in society in five years. Gosh, there are even a couple of animals that I don’t know what they are.”

  “Coons, I guess,” said Jinx. “But they’ve had their hair combed and their faces washed. Well, Freddy, they’re all here. Better get up and give them the works.”

  So Freddy stood up. Resting one forefoot on the dashboard, which was tastefully draped with the new flag, he raised the other for silence. “My friends,” he said, “we have come together here tonight to do something that has never before been done in the history of the world. We have established the First Animal Bank, and now we meet to establish the first animal republic. There is no need to tell you how momentous such an occasion must be. There is no need to remind you of the tremendous results which may follow from our action here tonight, and which will influence the lives of our children and our children’s children for generations untold. Nor is there need—”

  “If there isn’t any need,” interrupted Jinx in a stage whisper, “what do you go on yelling about it for? There’s no need to talk all night. Get to business.”

  “Er—no,” said Freddy, pulling himself up short. “There is no need for any of these things. So we will proceed to the main business of the evening, which is the nomination of candidates for the office of president. The election will be held in two weeks’ time. The meeting is open for nominations.”

  After the applause died down, there was a moment of silence. Freddy looked down and in the front row saw Simon and his entire family, all staring up at him with their beady black eyes, looking very solemn and innocent. And he was just wondering if they would really have the nerve to nominate one of their number, when a voice in another part of the hall said: “Ladies and gentlemen!” It was John Quincy.


  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said John Quincy, “what must we look for in the first president of this great new nation? We must look for three things: honesty, brains, and the willingness to do hard work. Now, my experience during my short but happy time in your midst leads me to believe that any of those who may be nominated tonight will possess those three qualities to the full. So far, then, the candidate whom I wish to propose to you has nothing better to offer you. He possesses these qualities, it is true, in the fullest measure. But I am fully aware that there is enough honesty, brains, and willingness to work here in this hall tonight to supply a dozen presidents. A dozen, do I say? Nay, a hundred.”

  There was wild cheering at this point, but when it had died down, old Whibley, the owl, who had kept his eyes closed during the first part of the speech, opened them, blinked twice, and said in a loud voice: “Talk, talk! I didn’t come here to listen to a lot of talk!” But he was shushed down, and John Quincy proceeded.

  “But, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “there is another quality which is even more important. It is the ability to avoid making mistakes. It is, in a word, experience. I will be brief. I wish to propose to you as a candidate for the presidency one who has had wide experience, not only of men and cities, but of the way in which a great nation is governed. One who has lived for years, not only in Washington, but actually in the White House grounds. One who has been an intimate of presidents and a close observer of their habits. I nominate Grover.”

  “Woodpeckers!” said old Whibley disgustedly. “Bug-eaters!” But the cheering drowned his voice. And then Grover was speaking.

  “Fellow citizens,” he said, “I am a bird of action. I will not bore you with a long speech. My record as president of the First Animal Bank speaks for itself. But there are a few things I should like to tell you. You do not know me well, for I have been with you only a short time. But already I feel one of you. I have cast my lot with you, and I think I can promise that I will do my best for you, whether as a private citizen, as banker, or as president of your—of our, I should say—great country. Now, my friends …”

  His voice went on, and Freddy turned to Jinx. “Did you see that?” he said. “Simon and his gang cheering for Grover.”

  “Let ’em,” said Jinx darkly. “Their cheering days are pretty near over. What’s worrying me is the birds. There are more birds than animals here—did you notice that?—and—But let’s wait and see how they take Mrs. Wiggins.”

  “The test of a good president,” Grover was saying, “is: what does he do for the people? And, particularly, what does he do for those who voted for him? Frankly, my friends, this nomination has come as a great surprise to me, and I have not yet had time to consider these matters. But I promise you this: if I am elected—”

  “You will be! Grover forever!” shouted an enthusiastic blue jay.

  “—I will see that those who elected me will have no cause to regret it.”

  The birds went wild at the conclusion of the speech. They cheered and whistled and clapped their wings, and the noise went on and on until Jinx looked hopelessly at Freddy. “This is bad,” he shouted. “They’ve elected him already. We mustn’t let ’em be so sure. Can’t you do anything?”

  Freddy shook his head, but Mrs. Wiggins’s broad face suddenly broke into a smile. “I can,” she said. “Leave it to me.” And suddenly she drew in her breath, and opened her mouth, and let out a tremendous laugh with the full strength of her lungs. And believe me, when a cow laughs as loud as she can, you sit up and listen. Lions aren’t in it.

  The cheering faltered and died down, and in the silence that followed, Grover said with angry politeness: “Pardon me, but have I—er, said something funny?”

  “Couldn’t if he tried,” grumbled old Whibley, and Mrs. Wiggins said: “Dear me, no. I—I just thought of something.” And she laughed again.

  “Madam,” said Grover between his teeth—at least that’s the way it sounded, though a woodpecker hasn’t any teeth—“Madam, I consider your laughter entirely out of place. Kindly restrain yourself or leave the hall.”

  At this some of the animals looked rather shocked, for Mrs. Wiggins was a highly respected member of the community. “Hey, hey,” said Jinx. “Aren’t we going to be able to laugh in this new republic if you’re president?”

  “Laughter,” said Grover, “has its place. I should be the last to deny it. But its place is not in government. It is a destructive element.”

  “Destroys stuffed shirts,” said old Whibley in a loud voice. “And a good thing, too.”

  “Sir!” said Grover icily. “Will you kindly explain that remark?”

  “With pleasure,” said old Whibley, suddenly waking up and opening his enormous eyes very wide. “I came here as a sober citizen. Didn’t come to laugh. Came to hear common sense. Instead, got a lot of windy balderdash. ‘Enough to make a cow laugh,’ I said to myself. And sure enough, a cow laughed. Well?”

  “You’re referring perhaps to my speech?” asked the woodpecker.

  “Clever of you to guess it,” said the owl.

  “Sir,” shouted John Quincy suddenly, “this is my father you’re speaking of.”

  “Like father, like son,” said old Whibley.

  “I shall hold you to a strict accounting for those words,” said Grover furiously. “Perhaps here in the North such words can be spoken with safety, but not where I come from. A Southern gentleman defends his honor with beak and claws. You shall answer to me, sir.”

  “Any time, bug-eater. Any time,” said old Whibley, and then closed his eyes and apparently went to sleep.

  “And you say you’re not clever!” said Freddy to Mrs. Wiggins, under cover of the excited buzz of conversation that went round the hall.

  “Thought it might stir ’em up,” said the cow. “But old Whibley was just a piece of luck. Anyway, it’s always safe to laugh and not explain, if the other side seems to be getting the best of an argument. Makes ’em think maybe they’ve said something foolish and don’t know it.”

  Suddenly Simon was on his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, folding his forepaws across his chest and looking very saintly indeed, “we are wasting valuable time. And so far only one candidate has been nominated. I gather from certain remarks that have been passed, that there is some objection to this candidate because he is a bird. Though I am an animal myself, this kind of jealousy seems to me petty and foolish. If a bird will make a better president, then, I say, elect a bird. And the birds, I am sure, and all honest animals, will vote for the candidate best fitted for the job, even if he is a bird.

  “But, ladies and gentlemen, I suspect that we have not heard all the nominations yet. I have good reason to believe that a certain group of animals have come to this meeting secretly prepared to nominate a candidate, whom they have already elected in their own minds. I say nothing of the secrecy with which they have plotted to grasp the reins of government—”

  “Good gracious!” said Mrs. Wiggins to Freddy. “He’s turning the birds all against us. Better have Charles begin right away.”

  For it had been arranged that Charles was to make the speech nominating Mrs. Wiggins. He was a fine orator, with a great gift of language, and yet nothing he said ever meant anything special—which is just what you want in a nominating speech. The trouble was now, though, that everything old Whibley had said about the woodpeckers’ speeches would apply even more to Charles’s remarks, which were certain to be even windier balderdash than anything heard that evening. The birds would just laugh him down.

  “You’d better nominate her,” said Freddy to Jinx.

  But Charles overheard him, and he jumped up quickly on the dashboard of the phaeton and shouted: “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fellow vertebrates—” But that was as far as he got, for Jinx pulled him down.

  “Hold him, Robert,” said Jinx. And as Robert seized the angrily squawking rooster and dragged him down out of sight under the back seat of the phaeton, Jinx addressed the audience.

/>   “Simon is right,” he shouted. “He’s a thief and a robber, as you all know, but he’s right for once. We have selected a candidate, and we are sure that candidate will be elected. Our red-headed, bug-eating friend has told you that experience is what we want in a president. For once, he’s right, too. That is what we want. But what kind of experience? This is a republic, but it is also a farm. And the kind of experience we want is not experience in running a big nation, but experience in running a farm.

  “And another point: we want someone we know—not a stranger. I nominate Mrs. Wiggins.”

  The cheering was louder this time than before, partly because animals can make more noise than birds when they set their minds to it, but partly, too, because there wasn’t an animal or bird on the farm that didn’t like and admire Mrs. Wiggins. You just couldn’t help it.

  Mrs. Wiggins was too big to get into the phaeton, but she walked out in front of it, very pleased and flushed, and smiled comfortably at the assembly.

  “You’re all my friends here,” she said. “And among friends we don’t need a lot of talk. I don’t think I’d make you a specially good president, but if some of you think different, I’ll do the best I can.” Then she walked back.

  Old Whibley opened his eyes wide and nodded approvingly. “Clever speech,” he said.

  “Clever nothing,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “It’s the truth.”

  “That’s why it’s clever,” said the owl.

  After that, Freddy called for further nominations, and there was silence for a minute, and then a young rabbit named Marcus got up. He was rather scatterbrained, even for a rabbit, and was always doing things that his people thought quite crazy, but everybody liked him. And he wasn’t afraid of anything. Once there had been a fierce bulldog on the Witherspoon place, and he was always chasing the rabbits and scaring them half out of what few wits they had. Marcus’s grandfather had been chased by him all one afternoon and had never been the same since. So one night Marcus dressed up in part of an old flour-sack and went over to the Witherspoon place and hid behind a bush, and when the dog came by he jumped out and said: “Boo!” The dog gave a yelp and ran, and Marcus chased him right out of the county, and he never came back.